


The Baseball Game

by Bolt_DMC



Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Baseball, F/M, Humor, Movie Reference, Music, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Slapstick, Suggestive Themes, Toilet humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-06 08:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: It's the final game of the Single-A World Series and the Prairie City Schooners are determined to win it all. Penny, her mom, and the pets all get into the act as the guests of honor. Will Bolt, Mittens, and Rhino save the day for the local team? Will Penny successfully execute the ceremonial first pitch? Will Penny’s mom sing a stellar National Anthem rendition and later set a trencherman record? Primary cultural references include baseball-themed movies and pop songs, as well as the comic strip "Peanuts."





	The Baseball Game

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: August 2011.
> 
> For Ian L.

1.

Penny excitedly ripped open a large package the mailman had just dropped off. Her three pets watched in eager anticipation, as the girl had said the contents were meant for them as well as her.

"We’re going to be guests of honor at the Prairie City Schooners’ last game of the season. Turns out they’re in the Single-A World Series, playing the Edgartown Heath Hens, and it'll be ‘Bolt’ day in honor of our old show. I'll be throwing out the first pitch and Mom is going to sing the National Anthem. Bolty, you'll be the honorary team mascot, and I even got Mittens and Rhino to be bench coaches for the day. It'll be a real family affair at the old ballpark. And look -- see? We've all got team jerseys and caps just for the occasion."

The dog turned to Mittens. "I heard Penny’s mom talking about that. Sounds like they had really detailed instructions for the anthem presentation, mentioning things like ‘largamente’ and ‘molto vibrato’ and ‘con alcuna licenza’. You’re the music expert here. What does that mean?"

"That means we'll have lots of time to gather up some pre-game snacks," the cat replied as she absent-mindedly licked a paw.

"Bolt -- c’mere, buddy!" Penny called out with a grin. "This jersey looks like it's just your size." She pulled the shirt onto the little shepherd and placed a baseball cap on his head, the latter containing cutout ear holes that kept it neatly in place. Pets are rarely enthusiastic about wearing outfits -- after all, how often has anyone seen a truly happy-looking pooch sporting a plaid doggy jacket? Bolt actually didn't mind playing dress-up, though. Being a former actor, unwitting or not, he rather enjoyed hamming things up while in costume, in fact.

The pooch wandered over to the full-length mirror and admired himself with a self-confident air, but he wasn't the only one savoring his temporary transformation to athlete’s status. Mittens looked at the hunky dog in his pinstriped jersey, emblazoned with a covered wagon pulled by a horse team atop the word "Schooners" in cursive red letters, and sighed passionately.

"Y’know, they're right. There really is something about a guy in uniform, isn't there?" She sidled up to Bolt with a throaty purr and said, "Mrrrrow! That jersey really does you justice and then some, doesn't it?"

The dog gave Mittens a suggestive glance and arched an eyebrow. "Hey babe -- wanna get to second base with a real-live minor leaguer?" he chuckled knowingly.

"Second base is for rookies," she smirked. "The coach is waving you all the way in, Mickey Mantle. You’re gonna round the bases in style if I’ve got anything to say about it. Just, er, leave the cap and jersey on, okay sweetie?"

"Batter up!" laughed the little shepherd as they dashed off to Penny’s room and shut the door behind them.

Penny watched the dog and cat disappear and giggled. "Here you go, little fella," she grinned as she fished out the smallest cap and shirt and dressed Rhino for bench duty. "Looks like it's just you and me, huh? Tell you what -- I'll try my uniform on for size and then we’ll watch a marathon’s worth of baseball flicks. You’d like that, wouldn't you?" Rhino hopped up and down with delight, clapping his front paws together and chirping happily.

Girl and hamster headed for the television set, where they found several worthy choices available on demand. "The Natural," "Fever Pitch," "For Love of the Game," "Bull Durham," and "A League of Their Own" kept them happily entertained for several hours, Bolt and Mittens joining them just in time for the second feature.

2.

On the day before the game, the dog and cat found Rhino poring over a small pocket-sized manual with an ebony-colored cover.

"Gee, rodent -- you got so many girlfriends now that you need a little black book?" quipped Mittens.

The hamster frowned and shook his paw. "No, it's nothing like that. Found a copy of the Single-A rulebook in Penny’s mom’s room. If I’m gonna be a bench coach, I need to know all the arcane little regulations in case an emergency crops up. As official assistant to the manager, it’s smart to be fully prepared. And you never know, cat -- you might have to earn your keep, too. Wouldn't hurt you any to bone up on this stuff."

"Eh -- who's gonna listen to me? They'll just hear a lot of meowing. Think maybe I'll just lay back in the dugout and enjoy the front-row seat," replied Mittens.

"Suit yourself," said Rhino. "Oh, just wanted to make sure. Baseball games on TV -- real or not?"

"No, no -- those are real. When it comes to sports, it's just WWF wrestling that's fake," the dog reassured him.

"Hmmmm -- and baseball talk shows?" asked the hamster earnestly.

Mittens laughed. "Jury's still out on that one, Rhino. I’d guess there's a cocktail weenie of truth wrapped in a great big bun of show-biz malarkey there."

The hamster clearly had something else on his mind by now. "Just one more thing -- you guys haven't got any chewing tobacco handy, have you?"

"Blech!" exclaimed the dog. "Chewing tobacco? What do you want that for?"

Rhino raised himself to full height and frowned at Bolt. "Really? I take it you've never actually seen a baseball game before. Players and coaches always have a big cheek bulge of quid when they're on the field."

"Used to be that way," said Mittens while rolling her eyes. "Nowadays, though, it's usually just bubblegum they’re packing. Chaw is really nasty stuff, too. Folks used to spit their tobacco juice all over the dugout floor way back when. Dunno about you, but I don't wanna be ankle-deep in that glop if I'm not wearing shoes. Yuck!"

"Besides," Bolt solemnly asserted, "You can get mouth and tongue cancer doing that. Ever seen before-and-after facial surgery pictures of guys who chewed or dipped, like Bill Tuttle? You don't want to, believe me. You're probably better off just sticking to sunflower seeds."

"Okay, okay, Carrie Nation -- you've convinced me," the hamster groaned. "Besides, where am I gonna get hold of a plug anyway? The convenience stores all card you if you’re under 18 years of age, and given that I'm only four years old and don't have a driver’s license, I think that'll make my quest for this a non-starter."

"Uh huh. As if being carded is your biggest worry. You won’t even be able to tell the guy working behind the counter what you want in the first place. Never mind the fact that you’re gonna have a tough time dragging home a pouch of tobacco as big as you are," declared the cat. "Anyway, one thing we don't need around here is a nicotine-hooked rodent. Next thing you know, I'll have to buy you a carved meerschaum pipe and a tin of Black Cavendish for Christmas. I'll bet you’d look really funny trying to puff on one of those babies."

"Nah -- it'd probably make me look all distinguished. Like Mark Twain or J.R.R. Tolkien, actually," said Rhino in a professorial tone.

Mittens laughed. "Now that really paints a picture, doesn't it? Whaddya think, Wags -- can you see Rhino with a smoldering brier pipe in his paw? Very 50s sitcom dad, don’tcha think?" There was a moment’s silence. "Bolt…?"

The dog was lost in thought, however. "Oh, sorry. I was just wondering what mascots do. You guys know?"

The little rodent stuck his paw in the air. "Ooooh -- I know! I know! Come up with as many dance moves as you can, the goofier and more exaggerated, the better."

"Or you can try and get people to start ‘The Wave’. Jumping up and down a lot like a cheerleader and swinging your paws around works, too," the cat offered. 

"There's always twirling a towel in the air, like Pittsburgh Steelers fans do," said Rhino. "’Terrible Towels’ is what they call them, I think."

Mittens chuckled. "If you weighed 300 pounds, you could always wobble your belly around like the Phillie Phanatic. But you'll never gain that much weight in a day."

"You can also do the Queen Elizabeth routine and wave and blow kisses and stuff like that," the hamster suggested. "It's a pretty short step from TV royalty to monarchic royalty. Might as well go for broke and bridge the gap."

The pooch shook his head. "Gee, never knew being a mascot could get so complicated. Not to mention tiring. Good thing I've kept up with my running -- I'm gonna need the stamina."

"Maybe," said the cat in an offhand manner. "Or you could always, y’know, just sit in the dugout and be a bench ornament. Let the players rub your head for luck and that kind of thing. Won’t have to do anything that way."

This wasn't exactly the worst dilemma Bolt had ever had to solve, but it managed to give the dog a king-sized headache nonetheless. "Urgh. I think I need a nap or something," he grumbled. "Seeya, guys."

3.

Metzler Field, home of the Prairie City Schooners, was a good distance from the farmhouse, about a three-and-a-half hour drive away. It was a fairly typical lower minor-league baseball park, a few steps up from a Little League sandlot and a few steps down from a fancier Triple-A Stadium. Bleacher-style seating predominated, though there was room at the periphery for those who wanted to bring their own folding chairs for marginally more comfort. An antiquated, squawking speaker system belched out "Charge!" and rhythmic clapping exhortations as well as baseball-themed tunes such as Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days," John Fogerty's "Centerfield," and "Cheap Seats" by Alabama.

Penny’s mom hadn't sung in public since her high school chorus days, though she was blessed with a sturdy enough voice and an opera diva's heft. Even the wide-ranging melody to "The Star-Spangled Banner" proved no trouble for her to belt forth. The Prairie City Rhythmic Yodelers Club had also been enlisted for the occasion to provide backup vocals, which lent her performance even more gravitas than might have been expected. Just fourteen minutes after her first note, she earned a rousing cheer for her National Anthem rendition as the crowd settled back overwhelmed into their bleacher seats.

Bolt and Penny stood together on the mound for the ceremonial first pitch. The girl had never actually participated in organized sports, though her television acting career had demanded a good level of stamina, agility, and strength, enough so that she didn’t throw like the proverbial girl when tossing the ball to the catcher. Good thing, too, as she had to repeat the procedure twice, once because Bolt got the wrong idea and decided this was a great time for a game of fetch, and once because the local news photographer inadvertently left the lens cap on his camera when taking a picture for the morning paper and had to reshoot.

The Schooners had managed to cobble together a surprisingly good squad this year, sprinkling several promising possible future major leaguers among the usual struggling hopefuls. The manager’s lineup card given to Fred Boyce, the home plate umpire, reflected this diversity:

SS -- Robinson  
3B -- Simpson  
CF -- Petrie  
RF -- Kuselias  
LF -- Guranovich  
2B -- Deck  
1B -- Layton  
DH -- Wiltz  
C -- McConville.

The heart of the Schooners batting order was its outfield. Consisting of Larry Kuselias, Moe Petrie, and Sam “Shemp” Guranovich, the hard-hitting trio had been dubbed "The Stooges" by the enthusiastic fanbase. The starting pitcher that day was John Morris, a fireballing southpaw who was destined for a fine major league career if he could ever consistently bring his wildness streaks under control. Closer Dave Burkitt was a reliable relief pitcher with a twirling knuckleball who had led the league in saves that year. Regrettably, more than half the team, including an entire bench's worth of utility players and bullpen relievers, was out sick with food poisoning after ill-advisedly eating at Mike and Mirco’s Bar-B-Que Emporium the previous night. As a result, there was no margin for error for the Schooners in case of an injury.

This lack of available forces concerned the Schooners’ manager, Jimmy "The Cat" Braun, to a grave degree, though he had been philosophical and hopefully optimistic in his interview with the morning newspaper. "I told the guys, I said, ‘Hey, those appetizers look sketchy as hell’. I guess the name should have been a dead giveaway, right? I mean, who expects them to be literal when they call a shared platter ‘Ptomaine Tasties’? Anyway, half the team's shooting from both barrels just now -- if you know what I mean -- but we've got just enough healthy players to field a squad. This is a good bunch, and if they dig in and give 108% -- well, make that 109% for a margin of safety -- then I'm confident we can win this."

Braun at one time had been considered a promising major league managerial candidate, but a hearty fondness for high-quality scotch such as Johnnie McElveen’s Blue Label and Glenkannik Single Malt had stalled his career. He had been on the wagon for two years now, though, and relished the chance to prove what he could do with a team, even at Single-A level -- and he had been promised another shot at the big time with a good showing this year.

4.

After performing their ceremonial duties, Penny and her mom found themselves ushered to the best seats in the house, right next to the home team’s dugout. The three pets, dressed in jersey tops and caps, had already taken up residence among the bemused players and skeptical manager.

Braun was used to the amenities "The Show" had to offer (he had been a major league catcher and coach for several years) and he chafed at the eccentric, crowd-pleasing goofiness that characterized the lower minors. "Sheesh," he groused under his breath. "I've got a dog mascot and a cat and hamster as bench assistants in a Series-deciding seventh game. If that doesn't scream Single-A ball, I don't know what does. Oh well -- it's the last game of the season, isn't it? Guess I’ll make do."

A strolling vendor came by to where Penny and her mom sat. "Want something to eat? Compliments of the house today, ‘cause you’re guests of honor. Anything you like, on us. Got hot dogs, chili cheese fries, peanuts, popcorn, cotton candy… "

Penny’s mom’s face lit up like a holiday fireworks display. "Yes, please!" she replied exuberantly.

"What was that you wanted, ma’am?" he asked, thoroughly confused.

"Hot dogs, chili cheese fries, peanuts, popcorn, cotton candy… " said the older woman while counting each item on her fingers.

"Mooooom!" groaned Penny. "You're embarrassing me! Stop it!"

"Yes, dear," her mother replied. "Like I said -- hot dogs, chili cheese fries… "

The vendor raised his eyebrows, but complied. "Sure, lady. Here you go. Lemme know if you want anything else. We're here to serve."

But Penny’s mom was already preoccupied with the first of three franks with the works. "Thank you, young man. We’ll flag you down again shortly," she mumbled through a mouthful of roll, relish, and mustard.

In the dugout, separated from the stands by a chain-link fence, Mittens sniffed the air with interest. She had already had breakfast, but the odor of chili and cheese beckoned unmistakably. She jumped over to the fence, on the other side of which Penny’s mom was already starting into a second hot dog.

"Oh, hi Mittens," she said. "You hungry, too? Well, let's see -- they gave us three orders of chili cheese fries. I'll bet you'd like to have one of them." Penny’s mom pushed the gooey concoction through a hole in the fence onto the edge of the nearby dugout bench. This was far greasier than the cat’s usual fare, but she couldn't resist.

"Hey, guys!" she shouted over to Bolt and Rhino. "You want a snack? It's good stuff."

The hamster, however, was busy eavesdropping while the manager and third base coach went over signs and didn't reply. The preoccupied pooch had been nervously pacing, but came over to Mittens.

"Red lipstick? Gosh, doesn't do anything for you," Bolt chuckled.

"It’s chili, you nitwit," she groaned in reply. "And it's not bad. Yeah, I know, it isn’t exactly health food, but… "

The little shepherd shook his head. "No, none for me right now. I'm way too nervous to eat anything. Maybe after the game."

"Sorry, Wags," she said. "It’ll be long gone by then. But thanks for making the lipstick comment. Gonna have to remember to wipe my mouth when I'm done, looks like."

Bolt grinned. "If there's any left on you after the game, I’ll just slurp it off. Can’t let my girl go around looking less than her best, don’tcha know."

"It'll be a win-win," laughed the cat.

5.

The dog had spent the bulk of the previous day as well as the car ride over unsuccessfully trying to figure out what mascots actually do. He wasn’t sure the suggestions he had gotten from Mittens and Rhino, such as jiggling his stomach or spinning a towel, were quite what he felt comfortable doing. Something the hamster had said earlier had gotten him thinking, though -- if the distance between television royalty and monarchic royalty was truly short, there would be precious little difference indeed between entertainment and political nobility, especially given the number of famed media people who had become governor and president in the US over the past several years. The state had recently undergone a contentious cycle of primaries for the local Congress and Governor’s Office, and the candidates had had their every public move recorded on the news. Penny’s mom had watched the various races with interest, and as a result, Bolt had seen far more than his fill of the political aspirants in action.

It did give the pooch ideas on how best to spend his mascot time, however. Once the game got underway, Bolt headed into the stands to mingle, his actions inspired by several things he had seen local politicians do. He posed for photos both alone and with fans, doled out sloppy kisses to babies and old ladies, did paw shakes with the men and boys, and smilingly let folks pet him and give him ear scritches. Several people thought he had more charisma than the two gubernatorial candidates and made comments to that effect.

The little shepherd had to laugh hearing this. "Me? As governor? Other than drastically improving animal shelters and bringing down pet license fees, I can’t say I’d have a whole lot on my agenda. No thanks."

6.

It was the bottom of the eighth inning and the game was still a scoreless tie. The sometimes erratic Schooners pitcher Morris had picked the perfect day to harness his control, only walking a couple batters and allowing just two singles while stranding every base runner. Heath Hens starter David Aanerud was nowhere near as sharp but had managed to wriggle out of several tough jams, matching Morris’s shutout pace thanks to a lot of luck and the far-less-than-clutch hitting by the Schooners lineup. The Schooners’ surprising inconsistency at the plate that day continued as two-thirds of the Stooges went down in order, Kuselias striking out on three pitches and Guranovich grounding weakly to shortstop. It was now up to second baseman Ian Deck to prevent an ignominious one-two-three inning debacle.

Deck worked the count in his favor to three balls and no strikes. Heath Hens pitcher Aanerud would almost certainly be forced to serve up a creampuff toss down the middle of the plate in order to avoid putting his foe on base via a walk. As expected, third base coach Jason McCauley flashed Deck the signal to not swing -- but the batter really wanted to hack away and hope for the best. He called time and stepped out of the batter's box, looking into the dugout in hopes that the manager would make an exception here.

Rhino chittered loudly to get Braun’s attention, then made the sign to swing the bat. The manager thought a second and then nodded. "Know what?" he said to the hamster, "You’re right. Let's take the chance. Nothing else seems to be working today." He gave the same green-light signal to Deck.

Everything worked well, at least initially. The batter smashed Aanerud’s offering over the pitcher's head into centerfield. But Deck’s luck would soon vanish when he stumbled over first base and fell heavily, spraining his ankle severely. He tried to stand, but it was no use. Worst of all, there were no other available bench players except for the relief closer, who needed to be held back in case Morris tired in the top of the ninth.

As Deck was helped to the dugout by two of his teammates, Heath Hens manager Matt Tiemann dashed out to the home plate umpire. "He's got nobody left to run for Deck," he shouted eagerly. "The Schooners will have to forfeit, and that means we win the game -- and the Series."

But Rhino had already exited his plastic ball and was frantically flipping through the rulebook. He bounced up and down excitedly while pointing to something on page 89. Braun looked at the entry and gave the little rodent a grin. "Nice work," he chuckled. The manager ran out to the umpire and earnestly presented him the rulebook page, which said:

"Rule 97.03(b)(4). If a team runs out of bench players, the mascot may be substituted during a game at any time the ball is dead. The manager shall immediately notify the umpire-in-chief of any such substitution."

Boyce scratched his head. "You're sure about this?" he asked. When Braun nodded, he said, "Okay. Seems kind of crazy to me, but hey, your choice. I guess it's better than a forfeit, anyway."

The pooch was in the stands, posing for a picture with a family of six when Mittens ran up to him. "Bolt!" shouted the cat gleefully. "Onto the field, pronto! They're putting you in the game! Looks like you’ll be the pinch runner for Deck."

"Huh," said the little shepherd as he and the cat scrambled for the dugout. "Running I can do, no problem. But what happens when I have to take the field in the top of the ninth inning? I can throw a snowball -- kinda -- but what if there's a ground ball hit to me?"

Mittens laughed. "I guess you’ve never read the comic strip ‘Peanuts’, huh? Charlie Brown's baseball team had Snoopy at shortstop, and the beagle used the ‘Ptui’ technique when he was on the field."

"What’re you talking about?" asked the dog with a puzzled look. "Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that one."

"It’s simple, actually. He’d catch the grounder in his mouth and then spit it over to Linus, who would step on second and complete the double play with a throw to first base," the cat explained. "You can always do that if you have no other choice."

"Er -- let's hope it doesn't come to that," replied Bolt. "Maybe the pitcher will pull that famous Satchel Paige move and ask all his fielders to sit down while he strikes out the side or something."

"Hey, hey, hey, let's go!" shouted the manager. "We haven't got all day!"

"Knock ‘em dead, Wags!" urged Mittens as the shepherd sprinted from the dugout.

Joe Knight, the first base coach, went over to pat the dog on the head. "Whatever you do, don't get picked off," he whispered in the pooch’s ear. "Watch the pitcher carefully. You may be our only hope to score."

The first baseman, Tank Layton, was up next. Given that he was a textbook left-handed power-hitter who pulled the ball every chance he got, the Heath Hens put on the defensive formation known as "The Shift," where the left fielder, shortstop, and third baseman move to the right side of the field, thereby cutting down Layton’s chances for a hit while leaving the whole area left of second base uncontested.

Once more, the hamster began frantically gyrating, trying to get Braun’s attention. A look of utter shock came over the manager's face. "Bunt? You're kidding, right?" He paused and quickly rethought Rhino’s advice. "Bunt -- but over towards third base. Nobody'll expect that in a million years. In fact, he hasn't laid down a bunt all season." He turned to the little rodent and laughed. "Well, you've been right so far. Don't see any reason not to trust you one more time. Haven't steered me wrong yet."

Braun gave Layton the sign. The latter shot his skipper an incredulous look and warily stepped into the batter’s box. Aanerud hung a particularly fat hanging curveball out over the plate, almost tempting Layton to disregard the signal and swing away. Instead, it proved to be the perfect pitch to lay down a hard bunt that would skitter past third base, and the hitter executed it perfectly.

Even at eight years old, Bolt was still lightning quick, rounding second and nearly reaching third base before Ryan Ahrens, the frantic Heath Hens’ left fielder, managed to track down the ball. The pooch barreled past third base, ignoring McCauley’s vigorous motion to hold up. The surprised Ahrens heaved the ball mightily towards home plate, where Shaun McGinnis, the Heath Hens’ catcher, caught the throw and crouched down, bracing himself for a collision with the streaking shepherd.

The dog had a surprise in store for the waiting catcher, however, courtesy of his Hollywood acting days. One of his many moves from the "Bolt" show included leaping over helicopters and similar high obstacles -- and unlike the Superbark and laser heat vision, he could execute a halfway-decent approximation of this skill. As he neared McGinnis, Bolt closed his eyes, lowered his head, and jumped over the startled catcher before he could react and reach upwards to tag him. The pooch finished with a deft tuck-and-roll maneuver, landing stomach-first onto home plate.

"Safe!" shouted the emphatic home plate umpire as the crowd and Schooners bench roared with excitement.

The normally pristine white dog, smudged with red basepath dirt, loped gleefully to the dugout. Thanks to his daring and unorthodox base running, his team now had a precarious 1-0 lead with just one more inning to go. Bolt’s gamble had proven especially fortuitous given that the next batter, designated hitter Sid Wiltz, popped out to the third baseman. Only three outs now separated the local team from a Single-A World Series triumph.

7.

"Aw c’mon, Mom!" grumbled Penny. "You’ve had three hot dogs, two bacon cheeseburgers, two chili cheese fries, a bag of peanuts, a bag of popcorn, cotton candy, two boxes of Cracker Jacks, and a jumbo sausage with peppers and onions. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?"

Penny’s mom wrinkled her face and contemplatively scratched her head. "Absolutely," she replied. "Oh vendor! Could you bring over two pretzels, a nacho plate, a couple corn dogs… oh, and one of those soft serve sundaes in a souvenir batting helmet?" She turned to her daughter and said, "Did I forget anything?"

The girl hid her face in her hand and groaned, "No, I think you've about covered it all… "

"And make sure you include a couple of diet colas. I'm watching my weight, you know," she called out to the vendor.

8.

Bolt ran onto the field with his teammates at the top of the ninth inning and nervously took his position to the side of second base. "Don't hit it to me, don't it to me, don't hit it to me," he mumbled to himself, though anyone within earshot would have just heard a lot of jittery whining and whimpering.

Schooners pitcher Morris had hurled a gutsy game, maintaining good ball control throughout. He was tiring, however, and his pinpoint accuracy suddenly disappeared as he walked the first two Heath Hens batters, Chris Udsen and Marcus Sauve, on eight straight pitches well out of the strike zone. Manager Braun knew his starter was done for the day and the closer Burkitt would need to finish up and get the save. Unfortunately, Burkitt had had trouble locating his glove and was only just now beginning to warm up -- and he was nowhere near ready to come into the game.

"We've got to stall for time," said Braun to the hamster. "Burkitt needs to finish loosening before I can send him in. About ten minutes should do it." He turned to Mittens with a conspiratorial grin on his face. "Cat, you've been quiet all game -- and now’s the time to earn your stripes. I want you to go out there and argue balls and strikes with the ump. Stall for as long as you can, and cause enough of a ruckus that you get yourself thrown out of the game. Doesn't matter how you do it, but get that umpire so mad that he has to eject you. Make Earl Weaver look like a shrinking violet out there. Don't fail me, kitty."

Mittens screwed her face up into a snarl, pushed her cap forward decisively, and marched angrily out to home plate. She yowled. She shrieked. She howled. She waved her front paws in the air. She jumped up and down like an enraged wallaby.

Home plate umpire Boyce crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What's eatin’ you, cat?" he groused.

Mittens threw her cap to the ground and kicked it to one side. She kicked dirt on the umpire’s shoes. She kicked dirt onto home plate. She drew a pair of spectacles into the dirt and pointed at Boyce accusingly.

A peevish glare crossed the umpire’s face. "Oh, so you think I can't see well, huh? Better watch yourself there, kitty. I really don’t wanna toss out one of the honorary bench coaches, but you're skating on pretty thin ice right now."

The cat had tried everything she could think of to get herself ejected, but nothing had worked so far. And then it happened.

As Shakespeare once wrote, some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. In Mittens’s case, greatness descended on her courtesy of the plate of gloppy chili cheese fries she had eaten before the game. The huge portion of junk food she had scarfed down had worked itself through her digestive tract quickly, and was making a hasty exit that would not be denied.

The cat’s facial expression turned from a surprised frown to a smart-aleck's smirk as she left a large, messy brown deposit on home plate that any self-respecting litter box would have thought twice about accepting. Just for emphasis, she turned her back on the plate umpire and saucily flicked her tail skyward.

"Okay -- that's it!" yelled Boyce as he punched the air with his right arm, thereby officially banishing Mittens from the playing field. "You crossed the line, but good! You're outta here!"

Manager Braun hastily ran from the dugout to argue briefly with the umpire before grabbing the cat and escorting her from the field. "Nice work there, kitty," he grinned. "Even Billy Martin never thought of pulling a maneuver that outlandish." Mittens’s effort had bought plenty of warm up time for Burkitt, and he came trotting from the bullpen to take the mound.

Burkitt’s assignment was to get the next hitter out while somehow preventing the inherited runners from advancing. His foe was Mickey Cleary, the Heath Hens’ slugging designated hitter who had been the team's leader in home runs and runs batted in for the year. The plucky relief pitcher began auspiciously enough, floating two strikes past the surprised batter in rapid succession. But Burkitt’s third knuckleball was left a little too much down the middle of the plate, and Cleary whacked a screaming line drive to the shortstop's left.

And that's when things became "Twilight Zone" bizarre. Brian Robinson, the Schooners shortstop, possessed a notably wide range but unfortunately coupled that with a glove technique that was hit or miss. He dived to his left, getting his mitt on the ball but failing to catch it properly. The Heath Hens’ runners, Udsen at second base and Sauve at first base, assumed the ball would get through and sprinted forward. It appeared their risk would bear fruit, as the ball flew up into the air and out of Robinson's reach.

As it turned out, Bolt was positioned perfectly. The pooch leaped to his right and caught the deflected ball in mid-air, registering the inning's first out. His momentum carried him over to second base, and by touching the bag with the ball in his mouth, he doubled off Udsen for out number two. By this time, Sauve had nearly reached second base and was frantically scrambling to first in order to avoid being doubled up himself. Sauve had only managed to get halfway back to the bag when Bolt bowled him over, touching the ball in his mouth to the runner’s leg and thereby completing a nearly unassisted triple play (Robinson had technically earned an assist on the play with his deflection).

That was it. The inning, the game, the Series, and the season were over and the Schooners had triumphed. Heath Hens manager Tiemann came out screaming at umpire Boyce vowing to lodge a protest, though even he knew it would be futile. The Heath Hens’ batter Cleary held his head and groaned. "Aaugh! Really? A triple play? I hit into a triple play? And to a freaking dog? How the heck did I manage that?" The spectators in the stands erupted in cheers (except Penny’s mom, who was busy finishing off the last of the corn dogs) while manager Braun, coaches McCauley and Knight, Morris, Deck (now on crutches), Mittens, and Rhino headed excitedly from the dugout onto the field, joining the rest of the whooping, shouting Schooners players. All mobbed Bolt with congratulations.

A representative from the local cable television station corralled the jubilant skipper for an interview, asking him, "Jimmy Braun, you've just won the Single-A World Series. What’re you going to do now, go to Disney World?"

The manager laughed. "You kidding? On my salary? I'm just headed off to Taqueria Rocio for a double-stuffed burrito and a virgin margarita."

9.

Braun ended up getting his wish several months later when the parent major league club named him their third base coach -- with a guarantee that he would become the new manager when the incumbent, an elderly fellow named Cas Daugherty, retired at the end of next season. Dog, cat, and hamster would be the beneficiaries of a year's worth of premium chow from the grateful Braun. Penny and her mom gained an exciting new story they could tell their friends and relatives several times over about their pets’ accomplishments. And as best one can tell, Bolt’s triple-play baseball, with teeth marks still plainly visible, resides to this day in the "Oddities and Eccentricities" exhibit at Cooperstown's National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.


End file.
